![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/10\/JKimforAdamDay-1024x680.jpg\" "\\"\u00a9")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
THE INSOMNIAC<\/strong><\/p>\n The pig with the black feet is an insomniac. SARCLET<\/strong><\/p>\n The snow-skinned cove, the raw boned cows pace <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The pig with the black feet is an insomniac.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8,"featured_media":242,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[1,10],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nLong ago kids left a mask in the yard filled
\nwith leaves. Now the insomniac wears it \u2013
\nleaning his head down, snuffing, it sticks
\nto his moist snout, and he’s Marlon Brando.
\nWe find hidden, delicately stripped orange skins,
\ncandy wrappers, and shredded letters
\nthat name him, Albert. He\u2019s like a Russian\u2014
\nenormous, vulnerable, perhaps tragic\u2014
\na lover of darkness \u2013 snow-capped trashcans,
\ncoal bins, ships’ holds, sinkholes. He wanders
\nin the nightwoods for days, sending back
\nsounds like the ripple of radio voices,
\nuntil it\u2019s not Christmas, just one more day
\nand he hangs by his slick black feet, unzipped,
\nthe warm wet release lipping his chin.
\nNever promiscuous in his affections
\nhe understood being human, the chasm
\nbetween the classes, but never condescended,
\neven when he must have known he’d be eaten
\nwith on paper plates.<\/p>\n
\n<\/p>\n
\nthere, a thinning man, nostrils wide, salt burn, lung-
\ncolored water breaks like a thousand doors slamming,
\nshrinking shingles, and away. A gull with one wing dragging
\nlike a banner humps down shore. Fat snow butts a fallen
\ngutter, the overlong cold-droozed grass slips
\nfrom chapped hands thickening in the naked wind,
\nfalling asleep at the line, sliding darkly into pockets, and the eyes
\nloosening their bluish hold on the horizon; killdeer cutting
\nover the dunes \u2013 the sky\u2019s market light, the sun
\nkneeling between clouds in thin complicated continents \u2013
\nscarf trailing in air, swollen with frost \u2013 sand and shadow.<\/p>\n